


Deteriorate

by TalesOfOnyxBats



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, Fire Siblings Week 2020, Gen, Illnesses, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesOfOnyxBats/pseuds/TalesOfOnyxBats
Summary: Azula is immunocompromised and Zuko takes care of her.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	Deteriorate

**Author's Note:**

> Fire siblings week free day.

She is sick again. It isn’t bad, just a cold, but it is her third one this winter and she seems to be growing weaker with each fight. He is certain that this won’t be her last fight either. Her immune system is already insufficient and the more she gets sick the weaker her immune system becomes. And the weaker her immune system becomes the more she gets sick.   
Zuko sits himself down at the foot of her bed and holds out a bowl of soup. 

“Thanks, Zuzu.” She mumbles. Her voice is hoarse and scratchy from coughing. Frankly he can’t remember the last time that her voice sounded like silk. He is beginning to think that this steady flow of illness has torn her voice to irreparable shreds. She is probably lucky to be speaking at all. He guesses that by the end of the week her voice will be lost again. 

She coughs again several times, it is dry and breathy for now. Zuko swallows, usually it gets worse. Usually her coughs will go from dry and persistent to violent and with a lower sound.  
The sort of cough that sounds painful, that sounds like it is ripping the throat up. 

Azula picks up the spoon, her motions are slow and lethargic. A sweep of unkept hair falls into her face. “Water?”

“Iroh’s going to bring some tea up.” 

Azula nods and sets the soup aside. 

“No!” Zuko says abruptly and forces the bowl back into her hands. “You have to finish that.”

“Zuko, I’m not…”

“Finish it.” He insists. He ignores the cross look and the folding of her arms. She is getting thinner, her cheeks are noticeably hollwer. He can’t imagine that malnourishment is helping her any. She only seems to stare into the bowl. “Please finish it.” He tries.

“I don’t want to, Zuko.” 

“Aren’t you hungry at all?”

She shakes her head. 

“Really? Because you look…”

“Like hell? Like I’m dying?” She asks. “Trust me, it isn’t just a look.” She presses her lips into a thin line and turns her head away from him. He thinks that unshed tears are prickling behind her eyes, he can’t imagine any other reason for her to look away. 

“Azula.”

“I’m dying and that soup isn’t going to keep me alive.” She spits. She grips at her bedsheets and softly repeats, “I’m dying.” 

He finds himself repeating his old matra all the way back to his room, “Azula always lies. Azula always lies.” She is going to be fine. She’s just being melodramatic. Just wants attention and pampering. Her face appears in his mind as he stares at the ceiling; dark circles under her eyes stand out starkly against the pallor of her skin. “Azula always lies, Azula always lies…” and in his nightmares, Azula always dies. 

Usually when she does, the imagery is horrific. Sometimes she hemorrhages from within and bleeds from the ears and nose. She coughs it up and at the very end she cries blood that refuses to clot. In other variations she clutches her stomach and vomits until she falls over. And on some nights, her hair falls out in clumps and her body withers away to just stretched skin and bones. 

Her coughs echo down the hallway and enter his sleeping mind. They are a regular part of the night noise. Some of the night staff have quit because of it, claiming that it was haunting and disturbing to listen to their princess deteriorate like that. 

Zuko sheds a few tears. He remembers when she wasn’t like this. She was so powerful. So unstoppable. So intimidating. He hated her and he spent every day of his life wishing that the world would take her down. That it would strip her of her power and give him his moment. 

He has it now and he wishes that he can take back years of wishes before they take his sister.   
It is not his fault, he tries to remind himself. It is Ozai’s fault. It always is. Her immune system began to fail after prolonged exposure to the chemicals and vapors that wafted from those tanks and airships. From all of those war machines that he gifted to her and coerced her to interact with.

When he comes to visit her the next morning Azula is bunched up under the blankets and she is still. Very still. “Azula?” She doesn’t so much as stir. He steps closer, his stomach queasy. “Azula?” Motionless. He takes another step, his breath catching in his throat. He puts a hand on her bicep and she jerks. He jolts too but it is accompanied by a shot of relief. 

“What are you doing, Zuzu?”

“I thought… you didn’t answer me.”

“I was sleeping. I need sleep.” She looks thoroughly exhausted. More so than the night before. “I have trouble sleeping so when I fall asleep…” She sighs. “Thanks a lot, Zuzu.” 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. He looks at her dresser. “You finished your soup.” 

“Uncle is more convincing than you.” She nuzzles her head against her pillow. Her nose is red from constant rubbing and he notices that her cheeks are now flushed with fever, another notable contrast to the rest of her pallor. 

“Are you feeling any better?”

She holds up her hands and indicates with her fingers just how insignificantly small her relief is. 

“You just have to hold out until the flu season is over, okay?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do, Zuko?” 

“Look, I’m just saying that if you don’t get better then I’m going to beat you at every Agni Kai from here on out so I suggest that you…”

“I suggest that you stop saying things that you’ll regret when I’m not…” she falls into another coughing fit, but it is a suitable substitute for whatever she was about to say. The fit goes on long enough for him to grow uncomfortable. He puts his hand on her back and helps her take a drink of water. 

She hunches over as he withdraws the cup and gives a few final coughs. He continues rubbing her back as she takes a deep breath and looks up at him with dismal eyes. He swallows, his heart pangs. “You’re going to be fine, Azula. You always are.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

He lowers her back to the pillow. “Uncle is going to join us for breakfast.”

“That’s fine.” She pauses. “I’m going to…” She pats the pillow beneath her head.

“Yeah.” He gives her a half smile. “You get some rest. And get better because I expect an ass kicking when you do.”


End file.
